Déjà Vu
by Ciara in cotton socks
Summary: Post-Pay Up. One of the team has fallen. Will they pull through? And how will it affect Flack, who has been stretched to breaking point by this latest tragedy? Sorry, I suck at summaries but the story is better I promise! Please read and review! COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Déjà Vu**

**A/N:OK everybody; this is my first post-Pay Up fic so bear with me! I hope you all like it, and if you do please, please, please review! I love reviews- love, love, love them!**

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own CSI:NY or any of the characters or plotlines… If I did, I would never have killed off Angell. (For those of you who liked Aiden, I liked her too, but if she had never left, then Lindsay probably wouldn't have come, and then there would be no D/L… So I can forgive the writers for that one!)**

**Anyway, enough rambling and on with the story…**

**Love,**

**Ciara**

**/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/**

It was happening all over again.

The hospital. The scream of ambulance sirens. The blood on his hands that wasn't his own. The nurses scurrying out with updates. The cold felling of helplessness spreading through him. The sobbing all around him. The questions. The monosyllabic answers. The lump in his throat. The stench of death. The waking nightmares springing to life every time he blinked. It was all the same.

"Don?" Stella's voice was far away, stuffy and adenoidal like she had a bad head cold. "Don, you've cut your head pretty bad. You should get it cleaned up, it looks like you need stitches…" She trailed off, knowing that he wouldn't. Knowing that he couldn't care less about some stupid gash on his head, not when their friend could be dead…

He looked up as a pale-skinned doctor with flaming red hair strode through the double doors. She wore wine-coloured scrubs and a grim expression. What little hope he'd had left was extinguished in a flash. That expression said it all.

For the second time in as many days, Don Flack's world fell apart.

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

"_OK, I'm going to try my best not to make anybody cry. Could everybody raise their glass?" Stella asked. Don did so, and the rest of the group complied as Mac joined them. "Jessica Angell was one of those rare people who touched each of our lives, the kind who reaffirm your faith in humanity. I am honoured to have known her, and while NYPD has lost one of it's brightest stars, I know she will live on forever in the minds of everyone who cared about her. To Jessica, a true angel in every sense of the word."_

"_Jessica," they murmured, knocking back the whiskey. Don wasn't sure how he had come to feel this way. He had thought it would hurt even more to do this, to finally confirm that she was gone. But it didn't. For the first time since Jess had been taken from him, he felt like he might be able to move on with his life. All of his friends surrounded him, helping him when he needed them the most. They were there for him. They cared. They understood. They missed her too._

_They were all saying such sweet things about her, remembering her the way she would want to be remembered. They were laughing, even as tears sparkled in their eyes. Don liked it. Jess would never have wanted them all moping around. She would have told them to remember the good times and quit being so soft. _This_ was what she would have wanted. This was exactly right._

_Out of the corner of his eye, Don noticed a sleek car, almost a dull gold in colour, slowing down outside the bar. The back window rolled down slowly and the cold, metallic form of a machine gun appeared, protruding from the car's interior. For a single moment, everything was suspended, frozen in time. Nobody moved._

_Then the first shot was fired._

_Chaos erupted. As Don dived for cover, he could hear screaming and sobbing in equal measure all around him. People were calling out to their loved ones, the uninjured attempting to flee the destruction. Don pressed his cheek to the floor, not moving even as he heard the squeal of burning rubber as the assailants disappeared into the inky New York night. Then something sharp hit his temple, and he was overcome by darkness…_

_He couldn't have been unconscious very long. When he woke up, he could hear people stirring in the wreckage of Sullivan's bar. Shakily, he sat up. Nothing seemed to be wrong with him, nothing at all apart from a couple of superficial cuts. Then he remembered the others._

_He rose unsteadily from the detritus, shaking shards of glass and splinters of wood from his clothes. His eyes wheeled about madly in his head, searching for someone, anyone to tell him it was all alright._

"_Mac? Stella? Anyone?" He didn't care that his voice was a high-pitched squeak of fear._

"_We're fine Don," Mac grunted to his right. He was pulling Stella into a sitting position, pinching the bridge of his nose, which looked to have been broken as he threw himself out of the line of fire. Stella's pretty features were contorted with pain, and she was cradling her right arm I her left._

"_Stel?" Don called. "Stella, what happened?"_

"_We're fine," Mac repeated, smoothing Stella's brown curls back from her face. "It looks like she landed awkwardly on her arm, that's all. It might be broken, but she's OK. Go check on the others."_

_Don nodded weakly and stumbled over an upturned barstool to where Sid, Adam and Sheldon were huddled in a small group. Sid was pale and breathless, but otherwise unscathed. Hawkes' glasses were dangling from his nose, shattered beyond repair and a piece of broken glass seemed to be embedded in his arm._

"_Get someone to look at that as soon as the paramedics get here," ordered Don. "You hear me Sheldon?"_

_But Hawkes was too busy working over Adam's fallen figure to worry about his own injuries. The lab tech lay sprawled in the remains of the bar, eyes half-open. Only a sliver of white eyeball was visible. Don's stomach swooped unpleasantly, like the feeling you get when you miss a step on the stairs, as he saw the blood flowing freely from a wound to Adam's left shoulder._

"_Hawkes, is he…"_

"_He'll be fine," Sheldon replied, attempting to staunch the blood flow with a strip of fabric from his own shirt. "Took a bullet to the shoulder, but it's not life-threatening. He's just fainted from the shock, but he'll be alright once we get him to hospital."_

_Don breathed a shaky sigh of relief. That had been a scare. But it was alright. Everything was alright. Adam wasn't going to die. Everything was absolutely fine. He leaned weakly against the chipped counter._

_And then he heard the scream._

_It was a scream of pain, but not physical pain. It sounded like how Don had wanted to scream when he found Jess lying on the floor of that diner. The sound ripped him apart from the inside as he hurtled toward its source._

_Lindsay sat on the floor, tears streaming uncontrollably down her face in jagged, meandering rivers. She looked up as Don came towards her, and her face was that of a person being tortured._

"_Help, help, I can't wake him up! I-it's all my fault, he p-pushed me down, he didn't have time to get out of the w-way…"_

_Danny Messer lay in her arms._

_His eyes were completely shut. He looked peaceful, more peaceful than Don had ever seen him. He could have been asleep, had it not been for the dark blood congealing in his blonde-brown hair…_

"_Sid" Don yelled. "Take Lindsay!"_

_He was vaguely aware of the medical examiner hauling the hysterical woman away as he checked for Danny's pulse and frantically began compressions._

"_Come on Messer, don't do this," he muttered wildly, working desperately over the body. He tried and tried, as hard as he possibly could._

_But by the time the wailing of sirens filled the air, he still hadn't gotten a heartbeat._

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

**A/N:So that's chapter one! Please review, tell me what directions you'd like this to go and give me any ideas you have! Please press that button down there…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**A/N:Hey everyone! Here's chapter two and I hope you like it! To all the Danny fans out there… please don't kill me! I'm WITH you! I love Danny, I just think it's most likely that he was shot. Apologies, apologies…**

**Thanks to the lovely people who reviewed the last chapter: Elphena Lewis, saturn567, yumalatar, BlueEyedAuthor, afrozenheart412, Messer4ever, DantanaMM, twilighttay and –X-Breath of Fresh Air-X- . You guys are fabulous, keep up the good work! And other readers, take note: reviewers are the nicest people in the world!**

**Disclaimer: see last chapter**

**Note: I am not a doctor. I am a sixteen year old student. If my medical speak is incorrect or implausible, please just go with it…**

**Love as always,**

**Ciara**

**x x x**

**/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/**

The redheaded resident looked around expectantly, tightening the elastic on her ponytail.

"Lindsay Messer?"

Lindsay looked up from where she'd had her face buried in Mac's shoulder. Her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed, and her tears had washed her makeup away completely. Her breathing came in panicked gasps and she was trembling from head to foot. Stella draped a comforting arm around her, and she seemed to find strength in the older woman's touch.

"Th-that's me. How is he?" she asked fearfully. The doctor hesitated and tightened her ponytail again. Don guessed it was a habit born from nervousness. Her olive-green eyes flickered from face to face as she arranged her features carefully into an expression of delicate concern.

"I'm Dr. Wylde. Perhaps we could talk somewhere more… private."

"No, no it's fine. Anything you have to tell me you can say here," Lindsay argued, swallowing loudly and shrinking slightly more into Stella's embrace.

"Oh… alright," said the doctor, looking surprised. Don sat up straighter and Mac stood up completely. Don understood the tense anxiety Mac was giving off; the lab head had always had a soft spot for Danny. Dr. Wylde took a steadying breath. "Mr. Messer sustained a gunshot wound to his head. It did pierce the skin, and also penetrated the cranium. Now, we have been able to remove the bullet. However, it also caused extensive internal bleeding and swelling on the brain. During surgery we were able to stop the bleeding and reduce the swelling significantly."

"Th-that's good, right?" Stella asked hoarsely.

"Originally, we thought so. However, head injuries of this nature can cause complications and in this case, Mr. Messer has gone into a coma. As with all coma patients, recovery time is impossible to estimate. Mr. Messer is on a ventilator to help with his breathing. Mrs. Messer, I must warn you, it may take a long time for your husband to recover and there are no guarantees. There may be significant brain damage and… and there is a strong likelihood that your husband will not wake up. I am so sorry. He'll be brought up to a private room, and if you have any questions feel free to ask. I really am sorry."

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

The mood in the small rectangular room was subdued. The walls and sheets were pure white, and a vase of fresh flowers sat on the windowsill, bright and cheerful. Totally at odds with the situation.

Danny was at the centre of it all, though he was oblivious to this fact. He lay in the bed, still giving the impression of slumber in so far as his eyes were closed. But he didn't look like himself. Not anymore. He was hooked up to countless different wires and there was a tube in his mouth to help him breathe. A drip was attached to his arm. His head was wrapped in crisp white bandages and it was shaven to help the surgeons to get at his wound. He was inhumanly pale, and his elbows were clotted with purple bruises from various needles.

He was a shell of Danny Messer.

Lindsay was perched on the edge of the bed, her two small hands clutching the one of Danny's which peeked out, wire-riddled, from under the covers. She wasn't shaking anymore. Her brown hair was pushed back from her forehead and her brown eyes burned with a fierce protectiveness as she watched over her fallen husband. She had been refusing food, water and sleep for four hours now. Ever since they had arrived at the hospital.

"They're keeping me in overnight for observation, but I'll be back to work ASAP."

Adam's voice broke the silence. He too was pale and there was a deep gash on his cheek that had been neatly stitched up. Bandages were visible on his left shoulder, nestled underneath his pastel patterned hospital gown as he sat in the wheelchair he'd been given. Everybody looked up at the sound of his voice. All except for Lindsay. She had eyes only for Danny.

"They say that coma patients can hear people talking to them," Adam continued encouragingly. "If you're listening Danny, I hate to break it to you but you're going to lose out in the cool scar stakes. Yours is going to get covered up with all that pretty-boy hair. Me, I'm going to have an easy in with the ladies with this baby." He was smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes. His eyes were swimming with worry and fear.

Hawkes patted Adam's good shoulder consolingly. His own eyes were glassy with exhaustion and grief. He was shivering slightly in a t-shirt borrowed from the hospital lost and found. The stitches on his forearm were visible beneath the sleeve. He stifled a huge yawn, shaking his head apologetically as though it was a crime to be tired when one of their own was lying comatose in a bed just a few feet away. "I'm going to go get some coffee and check on Sid. Anybody else want anything?" Nobody replied. "Ok. Danny, hurry up and get better man."

He patted Stella's cast sympathetically as he left. She smiled sadly at him as he passed, her magnificent head of curls stooping towards the dark sling protecting the expertly applied plaster-of-paris. The others suspected that she had succumbed to the tears which had been threatening to spill over since the shooting, and pointedly averted their gaze as she sniffed into her sleeve.

"I just want you to wake up," she choked out, addressing the shell in the bed. "I know I don't exactly say it, but you're my friend Danny. And I h-hate seeing you like this. Th-thanks." This last was directed at Mac, who was pulling her into a gruff, one-armed hug.

Mac looked perhaps the most devastated after Lindsay. His nose was crooked now, with two spectacular purple bruises blooming under his eyes, giving him the appearance of a panda. The ghosts of countless other deaths swam under the surface of his eyes and it was clear that he feared that the same thing could happen here. Nobody had seen him this shaken since… well, since Claire. In their line of work, they saw death every day. But it never made it any easier to see one of their own so vulnerable. So breakable.

When he spoke, the false positivity in Mac's voice was evident. "Alright Messer, you better wake up soon. That's an order. I don't want to have to start interviewing replacements, you understand me? You know none of them will measure up. I'd really prefer not to lost the best CSI I've ever had, thank you very much."

"Hey," Stella laughed weakly, still hiccoughing slightly. "The rest of us could take offence to-"

"SHUT UP!" Don roared, his words echoing around the small room. Everybody looked up, eyes wide with shock.

"Don, what-"

"Stop acting like everything's going to be OK! It's not, it can't be! Jess is hardly cold and now Danny's just lying there and you can say what you like, it doesn't matter. He's still going t be lying there tomorrow. None of this positive crap is going to help, nothing is, and there's no point denying it. All of this is a waste of time and I-I can't do it anymore! I can't look at my best friend just lying there day after day like some sort of vegetable! I-I just can't!"

And he stormed from the room, feeling himself breaking into a thousand pieces all over again.

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

**A/N #2:So, what did you all think? Good, bad, indifferent? Please review! Also, ideas are welcome for small subplots eg: pairings, conversations or anything else you can think of! Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**A/N:Hey again everybody! So here it is, chapter three as promised! I'm hoping that everybody likes it, and if you do please let me know. It's a bit rushed, but I have a babysitting gig tonight so I thought I'd do it rather than leave you all waiting another day!**

**Special thanks to Elphena Lewis and afrozenheart412 who gave me the ideas for the conversations in this chapter. Note to wolfeylady- your idea will crop up soon!**

**Thanks to the following lovely reviewers: csiwendy07, twilighttay, Elphena Lewis, wolfeylady, Messer4ever, BlueEyedAuthor, DantanaMM, afrozenheart412 and CSINYtwins1412 . As always, your support is greatly appreciated!**

**Disclaimer: see last chapter**

**Love as always,**

**Ciara**

**x x x**

**/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/**

The cold water flowed into a steady whirlpool before disappearing down the drain.

Don's shaking hands scooped the water up clumsily, pressing the liquid to his face, which felt like it was burning. He loosened the knot on his tie, retching as his fingers brushed against the dark stain of Danny's dried-in blood. He couldn't breathe; the walls and the whispers of his colleagues were pressing in on all sides.

"_How could he?"_ Stella's horrified whisper as he stood on the other side of the door.

"_Poor Lindsay." _The bleak muttered words of Adam. _"She didn't need to hear that."_

"_He's hurting."_

Mac's words were the worst. They told Don just how selfish he was being. Hurting? How could he be hurting? A young woman might lose her husband. A little girl might never know her father. A family might be torn apart.

How could he be hurting when Lindsay and Lucy were faced with this very real possibility?

He felt sick with himself. Physically sick. Oh, he could argue that Danny was his best friend. He could say they were close. That it hurt to see him so weak. Maybe that was true. But a large part of it, Don knew, was that he didn't want to go through the pain of losing someone else so soon after Jess. That he didn't want to watch all over again as somebody he cared about slipped away in front of his very eyes.

Don leaned against the rim of the wash hand basin and closed his eyes, willing the horror to somehow go away, for Danny to somehow defy the odds and wake up. For everything to be OK.

"Flack?"

His eyes sprang open and he stared into the depths of the mirror. Staring back at him was Adam Ross, a slight frown creasing his brow and his arms hugging himself as though to hold him together through the disaster. A flash of white tooth was just visible as he nibbled on his lower lip.

"You should be with the others." Don's voice was a flat monotone.

"_You_ should be with your best friend," Adam retorted immediately, glaring at him uncharacteristically. As the others broke around him, the ones he looked up to like Mac and Stella, Adam seemed to be holding it together for them. He sat there in the wheelchair, panting slightly from the exertion of wheeling it so fast, looking thoroughly disappointed in the man facing him. Don's resolve broke.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "I shouldn't have said what I did, it was-"

"Realistic." The word sounded so sad, so desolate as it tripped from Adam's lips. "You were being realistic. And I totally get that man, but everybody can't do it. You can't expect us to stop seeing him as Danny and start seeing him as a vegetable."

"No, I-I didn't mean-" His own cold words echoed viciously in his ears, taunting him unrelentingly.

"I know, dude. But when something like this happens, you gotta do what you can to get through the crap that is your day. For some of us, it's being optimistic. And for you, maybe it's this. Maybe it's distancing yourself, running away from-"

"I'm not running away!" Don yelped. "I'm not. I _want_ to be there for Danny and Lindsay and Lucy, it's just- I can't do it. First Jess, now Danny. The love of my life just died in my arms, Adam, and I can't see my best friend- my _brother_, go the same way. I don't want to stand there and watch it. I-I can't." The words exploded from him, leaving him choking for air and sanity.

Adam stared wordlessly at him for one long moment, then said simply, "I get it. Just try to keep the premonitions of death to yourself. Lindsay's got bat ears, and she won't take kindly to it."

A strangled half-laugh burst hysterically from Don's unwilling lips. "Anything for a quiet life."

"If you want to get away, I'll make up some excuse for you."

"Thanks kid. Remind me not to tease you the next time we're working a case together."

"You don't know how long I've been praying for you to say those words."

Under cover of the pleasantries, a look of deep understanding passed between the two. For a moment, Don felt better. Then he remembered Danny lying in that bed. Anger boiled feverishly in the pit of his stomach. Like lava about to erupt from a volcano.

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

"Flack?"

Don looked up from his perusal of the incident report from the bar shooting. Several slim files sat on his desk in front of a framed copy of Jess's academy photo. The suspects. Thus far, Don had nothing to go on apart from his instincts. He had thumbed through those files countless times in the last few days, but to no avail. He picked one up again, hoping something would show itself tying the asshole to the shooting. He felt so useless just sitting here, doing absolutely nothing, while those bastards roamed free.

"Flack?" the other officer repeated, waving a hand in front of his face.

"Sorry," he sighed apologetically. "What is it, Barker?"

"Taylor wants to see you over at the crime lab. Right now. Said it was important."

"Oh, alright then. Thanks Barker."

Mystified, Don grabbed his takeout coffee and headed over to the lab. He knocked on Mac's office door and entered warily, wondering what would have caused Mac to call him. The head of the crime lab was sitting at his desk, waiting. He looked older than Don had ever seen him; greyer, more tired, more defeated.

"Sit down, Don," he sighed, leaning back in his chair. Don did so.

"How's Danny?" Don asked, almost dreading the answer.

"Much the same. Lindsay's been given extended paid leave to keep vigil. Stella's with them now, trying to force Lindsay to eat. I'm going to relieve her after my shift. You sure you won't come?"

Don shook his head silently, staring in stony silence at the floor.

"Fair enough," Mac continued. He heaved another sigh and looked Don in the eye for the first time. "Don, I think you should take some personal time, a couple of weeks to get it togeth-"

"No." Don didn't shout, but he might as well have. Mac flinched visibly at the sound of his cold voice. "I'd prefer not to, thanks."

"I know, but-"

"Mac, work is all I have right now. I just want to do everything in my power to get the assholes who are responsible for hurting Danny brought to justice. It's all that's keeping me going."

"I understand," said Mac gently. "But that's why I think you should take some time off. You're too emotionally involved in this case Don. I can't trust that you'll be able to control yourself if we do find out who did it. I can't trust that you won't jeopardise the integrity of my lab because you're grieving."

"I won't! I can do it Mac, I swear. Nothing will happen."

"That's what you told me when we went looking for the guys who killed Jess," Mac pressed, putting a hand on Don's arm. Don threw it off. "You said you just needed to be there when we took them in, and yet the man responsible for Jess's death ended up on a slab with a bullet in his chest. Explain that."

Don opened his mouth and closed it again. He couldn't explain it away. He had shot that guy without even blinking. He hadn't even felt bad when he'd done it.

"I managed to get you off on that one," said Mac quietly. "The guys upstairs accepted that he was a possible threat to your safety, even though we both know he wasn't. I won't be able to get you off the hook again, Don."

"What if I don't care?" Don exploded, thumping his fist against the wood. His coffee overturned, staining several pages of computer printouts. He glared at Mac with eyes clouded with fury. Mac sat up straight in his chair, a terrible expression on his face.

"Then I'll write a letter to Sinclair recommending your immediate suspension. I can guarantee it'd be a long one. Six months at least. And then back to driving a desk for the foreseeable future."

"You wouldn't," gasped Don.

"I would. If it's what it takes to make you see sense, I'll do it in a heartbeat. I'm not saying I'd like it one little bit, but if it needs doing I'll have no qualms."

Don stared into Mac's face. It didn't betray one hint of a bluff. He was deadly serious. He would have Don taken off the force for God knows how long, and then what? He would sit uselessly at home month after month while the killers roamed free. Surely a couple of weeks wasn't too big a sacrifice if it meant he could get back to tracking them down soon.

He stood up and snatched the dripping paper cup, firing it into the trashcan with more force than was absolutely necessary. He stopped in the doorway, looking back at Mac, who hadn't moved a muscle.

"Fine," he grunted grudgingly. "Two weeks. But what I do with those two weeks is my business. Don't contact me unless something happens with Danny. Or unless you get those assholes."

And with that, he was gone in a crash of doors and a whirl of suit jacket, leaving an unsettled Mac in his wake.

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

**A/N #2: As usual, please review. And I welcome all ideas, however small. Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

**A/N:Alright everyone, here we are again!**** Apologies that this took so long, but there was a problem with this site and I couldn't upload! Thankfully, that's fixed now! We're up to 26 reviews… Wow. Thanks so much for the support! Can we try for 30? Maybe?**

**Note to wolfeylady: I used your idea for this chapter!!! Thank you so much for your help! Everyone else, take note!**

**Thanks as always to my wonderful reviewers from Chapter 3: DantanaMM, wolfeylady, rebeck, miss wizard of oz, afrozenheart412, Hcainefan123, BlueEyedAuthor and Meser4ever. Keep up the great work!**

**As ever, reviews and ideas are more than welcome!**

**Disclaimer: see last chapter.**

**Love as always,**

**Ciara**

**x x x**

**/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/**

With three days left of his 'personal time', Don opened his eyes groggily.

He felt sick immediately. His head was spinning, his vision was blurring. He was soaked in a cold sweat and trembling from head to toe. Sitting up weakly, a pained groan slipped through his teeth. He blinked blurrily, glancing around the small bedroom. A couple of empty bottles carpeted the wooden floor and another half-full one sat on the cluttered bedside locker along with a glass tumbler, the bottom of which contained a trickle of overpowering amber liquid. Don groaned again as the vague memories of last night trickled back into his mind.

Struggling out of the tangled bed sheets, he cringed as his bare feet hit the cold wood of the floor. He must have forgotten to turn on the heating last night, absorbed as he was in the alcohol-tinted blur. He stumbled out to the tiny kitchen-cum-dining-room and switched on the kettle. Then he rummaged in the cupboard for a packet of aspirin and hastily dissolved one of the tiny white pills in a glass of water. He gulped it down, wincing as the liquid hit the back of his throat.

He decided he should probably tidy up. Quickly, he poured a mug of instant coffee, slurping it down as he scooped up a pile of magazines and shoved them in their holder. He tidied away the takeout cartons overflowing on the coffee table and opened the refrigerator. Inside was another half-empty cardboard takeout box, some spoiled milk and a six-pack. Don hastily got rid of the sour milk and Chinese noodles, avoiding the beer. Then he moved on to the bedroom. He dumped the empty liquor bottles in the trash can and stashed the half-full whiskey bottle in the cupboard under the sink. He tossed two weeks' worth of dirty clothes in the laundry basket and pushed the window open as far as it would go, spraying almost half a can of air freshener around the room, which smelled like a mixture of alcohol, cigarette smoke and sweat.

He pulled the sheets from his bed. They had definitely seen better days, stained as they were with red wine and marred by round, dark cigarette burns. He turned to bring them down to the laundry room, and stopped in his tracks.

Staring across the room at him was Jessica Angell.

She beamed up at him from the framed photo at the front of his shelf, her long dark hair framing her beautiful face as light danced in her eyes. Jess was dressed in a floaty white dress sprayed with blue flowers, a sweet grin decorating her wonderful features. One hand waved teasingly at the camera, the other was clutching the neat silver locket around her neck. The locket Don had given her, he realised as his eyes filled with tears.

In the other picture on the shelf, the entire team was grinning at the camera Don knew Jess had been holding. Adam, standing awkwardly to one side as though he wasn't quite sure if he should be there, a goofy grin on his face. Hawkes and Sid, side-by-side and beaming like proud uncles. Don himself, still in his suit and tie, one hand holding a pink teddy bear as his other hand rested on the side of the hospital cot. Mac, beaming proudly and looking suspiciously teary-eyed. Stella, her arms full of pink things, looking visibly excited and grinning from ear to ear.

And in the middle of it all, huddled on the bed, were the Messers. Danny and Lindsay, oblivious to the camera and the buzz around them, gazing down at the tiny piece of perfection swaddled in a pink wool blanket that was dozing peacefully in Lindsay's arms.

The thought of that family being ripped apart was heartbreaking.

Don stared dazedly at the two wooden-framed photos, completely forgetting about the soiled sheets in his arms. The sight of these happy memories tore open the raw wounds of losing Jess and seeing Danny slipping away all over again. The sadness flowed from him like blood, every droplet of pain weakening him by degrees. He reached up with a shaking hand and took the photos from the dusty shelf. It felt so achingly real, holding the pictures in his hands. He just wanted things to be like they were back then, shiny and new and exciting. Happy.

Mesmerised by pain and longing, he fell down heavily on the stripped mattress. The sheets dropped to the ground as he curled up into a ball, the framed photos still clutched in his hands. It felt like he was breaking apart, but that would have been too easy. If he was breaking, he was dying. Death was not so kind. It would not take him yet. It wanted him to feel the pain for longer.

Holding his broken soul together, Don scrunched up into the foetal position, his cheek pressed against the mattress. He was shaking, but not with tears. His unfocused eyes could only see the smiling faces of Jess and Danny. How long he lay there was anyone's guess.

Don Flack was still in that position when a worried Stella Bonasera burst through the door long after the sky outside had faded from palest blue to inky navy.

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

"Don?" Stella called, not bothering to disguise the fear in her voice. "Don, are you here?"

No response.

"Don," she said again, louder this time. "Don, it's Stella. Are you alright?"

She found him in the bedroom, curled up like a frightened child. His grip on two photo frames was vice-like. He wasn't moving.

In an instant, Stella was by his side. She reached out with trembling fingers and gingerly patted his shoulder. Don said nothing, but he stirred slightly, turning a little towards her. His face was contorted with agony and his eyes were blank and emotionless.

"Stella," he murmured weakly.

"Yeah, it's me. Don, I'm worried about you. Everyone is. What's going on? Talk to me, Don."

"Nothing's going on," he said in a monotone.

"_Don_," Stella sighed, sitting down gently beside him. Her hand found his shoulder again, stroking it awkwardly. "You're scaring me. I've called you I don't know how many times… We've all tried. Adam came around the other day, but he said you wouldn't answer the door."

"I guess I was in the shower."

"Don't lie to me, Don." Stella's voice got dangerously soft. "You're wasting away here. The idea of taking time off was to get your head together, and instead you're throwing your life down the toilet. It hurts us to see you like this. Jess and Danny wouldn't want you to-"

"Don't," whispered Don. "Just- just don't. Don't talk about them like that. You don't know what Jess would want and D-Danny… he's not dead. Stop telling me what he 'would' want. Stop acting like he's already gone. Just- just d-don't."

A lone tear splashed onto the bare mattress. Don turned away from Stella. His pain exploded from his chest and filled the room. Silence bounced off the walls.

"I'm sorry."

Stella's words echoed. Her hand tightened on Don's shoulder. His reached up and took hers.

"I'm so sorry," Stella whispered again. "I-I didn't mean…. Of course I don't know. I'm just- I'm just freaking out here. I'm so worried about you, and I want to help, but I don't know what to say because I don't want to cause you more pain… I'm just sorry, Don."

"I know." The two words tumbled from his lips and suddenly he was sobbing, loud, angry, aching sobs that were calling out for help in a way that Don couldn't.

Without thinking, Stella's arms shot out and she was holding her friend tight. Her hands were stroking his hair and she was whispering the same two words over and over again as though they could do something. As though they could numb the pain.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry."

And Don was crying into her shoulder, and he was shaking so badly the floor seemed to be moving. He was crying out all his pain and heartache and mourning. He was lagging against Stella, gasping and choking for air.

Eventually, the sobbing subsided and Don sat up, wiping the red rims of his swollen eyes with the sleeve of his soiled white wife beater. Stella's hand remained on his shoulder as he stared self-consciously at the floor.

"Sorry," Don mumbled incoherently.

"What on earth for?" asked Stella in surprise.

"This. Scaring you. Being an idiot."

"You aren't an idiot."

"Well then, I'm sorry for losing contact and giving you all one more thing to worry about."

"And _I'm_ sorry for putting my foot in my mouth so spectacularly."

"Apology accepted. I promise to call every day to let you know that I'm OK. I won't scare you like that again."

Stella stared at him, bemusement adorning her pretty features.

"You're not serious, are you?" she asked, her eyebrows disappearing into her hairline.

"Of course… Why?"

"You can't possibly think I'm going to leave you here," Stella said with a weak half-laugh. She jumped to her feet and stuck out a hand to help Don up. Now he was the one looking confused.

"What do you mean?" he asked warily.

"You're coming to stay with me."

"No, Stel I can't-"

"Shut up," said Stella warningly. "It will do you absolutely no good to argue with me, you should know that by now. You can't be alone right now. I have a room going spare. Case closed."

"But-"

"Don Flack, you have never won an argument with me. You're not about to start now. Get packing."

Don stared up at her, half exasperated, half touched beyond words. He took her hand and began to rummage in the wardrobe for some clean clothes as Stella searched for a bag. For a long moment, neither friend spoke. Then-

"Thanks, Stel."

"No problem. But you smell like a brewery, take a shower. I'm not having my spare room smelling like _that_," she teased.

"Ha ha. But seriously Stella, thank you. I appreciate you looking out for me."

"Hey, what are friends for?" Stella said softly, walking over and giving him a swift, one-armed hug. "We're going to get through this, Don. All of us. Together."

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

**A/N #2: Hope everyone liked this chapter! Once again, credit to wolfeylady for the idea. Please drop me a line telling me your ideas or just reviewing! I really appreciate it!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

**A/N:Here we go again! I'm adding this chapter very quickly after Chapter 4, I know, but I had both of them ready to go before the technical glitch halted my progress so I decided to add both of them in quick succession as a bit of a treat for you! Thanks as always to everyone who reads/reviews/PMs/anything else helpful!**

**Disclaimer: see last chapter.**

**Love as always,**

**Ciara**

**x x x**

**/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/**

"Hungry?"

Don's stomach rumbled unwillingly and he smiled self-consciously. Stella laughed as she ripped her charcoal scarf from her neck and shook out her damp curls. She strode into the living room, a supermarket bag in each hand and a newspaper tucked under her left arm. Don jumped to his feet to help her unpack, taking one of the bags from her protesting grasp.

"I should have cooked something," he said apologetically, putting a bottle of milk in the fridge and some green grapes in Stella's heavy glass fruit bowl. "You've been at work all day and-"

"And nothing," countered Stella, placing a pan on the stove. "You're my guest. Guests don't cater for hosts. End of discussion."

"But I-"

"No buts. Omelettes sound good?" Stella asked determinedly, speaking over him. Don nodded dumbly as she dashed back and forth in the confined space of her walnut and chrome kitchen, fetching ingredients, seasoning and olive oil. He shook his head in amazement as she whipped up the omelettes in a large stainless steel bowl.

"You never get tired of winning arguments, do you Bonasera?"

"Nope," she laughed, heating the pan. "But you make it too easy. It's almost not fun."

"Let me win one then," said Don, attempting to elbow her away from the stove.

"Hey! I said _almost_. It still holds some entertainment for me." Stella grinned maddeningly and jabbed him hard in the ribs to push him out of the way, reclaiming her position manning the pan.

"Control freak," muttered Don darkly, massaging his bruised ribcage. "Ouch. Make that _bony_ control freak."

They were still bickering playfully as they carried their warm plates to the breakfast bar and hopped up onto the chunky walnut stools. Grabbing knives and forks, they dug into the omelettes. They were good. Really good, in fact. Stella and Don lapsed into a comfortable silence, the only sound in the room the noise of their cutlery clinking against their plates. As they ate, Don noticed that Stella's hand kept straying to the newspaper she had brought home. He followed her gaze.

"The sports pages of the _New York Times_? I wouldn't have pegged you for a sports fan, Stel."

Stella's fork clattered against the frosted-glass plate and she stared pointedly into the remnants of her omelette. When she eventually spoke, her voice was carefully controlled and extremely quiet.

"I'm not. I get it every day before I go to the hospital. I read the baseball headlines to Danny. Mac takes basketball."

"Oh….. You know what?" said Don in a strangled voice. "I've actually lost my appetite. I'm just going to my room for a while. I-I have a headache."

He got up, leaving without another word or backwards glance. Stella watched him go, biting hard on her lip to prevent tears spilling over. She extracted her cell phone from the pocket of her black power suit jacket and dialled a number.

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

Don lay slumped on his bed, knees bent, rubbing the bridge of his nose and breathing long, deep breaths. Things had been going so well these last few days at Stella's. They had been getting on so well and he had finally begun to feel a bit happier. The subject of Danny and Jess hadn't been broached once. His days had been a mixture of daytime chat shows and quizzing Stella on what she had managed to find out about what was going on at the precinct. Things had been pretty good.

And now this.

_Knock knock._

He looked up to see Stella's face peering anxiously around the door. She looked very pale, and her brown eyes were glittering spectacularly. They scanned his face frantically, relief flooding into them as she saw him looking relatively alright.

"Hey," she said simply.

"Hey."

"You've got a visitor," said Stella, indicating towards the living room with a jerk of her thumb.

"Oh." Don was genuinely surprised. "Who?"

Following her out to the living room, he found the answer. Sitting on the black leather sofa was none other than Sheldon Hawkes. His glasses were slipping slightly down his nose, but his hands were too busy twisting anxiously to adjust them. He looked fatigued, older than Don had ever seen him, but when the others joined him, his face split into a small smile.

"Hey man, how are you?" he asked, getting to his feet and clapping Don awkwardly on the back.

"I'm alright, Sheldon. You?"

"As well as can be expected." Sheldon exchanged a significant look with Stella, who hastily cleared her throat.

"Why don't I go put on a pot of coffee?" she asked, striding towards the kitchen. "You two might like to have a bit of a catch up."

With that, she was gone, leaving the two men standing in silence. Don sat down in Stella's grey-and-black striped accent chair with a sigh.

"Alright Hawkes, what are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to see how you're doing man…"

"Don't give me that crap. Stella asked you to come, didn't she?"

Sheldon smiled sheepishly. "Got it in one. She sounded really worried on the phone."

"She shouldn't have bothered. I'm fine."

Sheldon muttered something to himself that sounded suspiciously like 'Denial' before continuing in a louder voice, "Really? Because, according to Stella, you're far from it. She was terrified when she found you the other day."

"Well I was in a bad place back then. I'm much better now."

"Are you sure? She says you won't talk about… them."

"I don't have to if I don't want to!" Don snapped. "Stop psychoanalysing me Doc." His voice cut through the air more sharply than he had intended.

"Sorry," said Sheldon quietly. "But come on, man. It isn't healthy, you must know that." He stared steadily at Don until he nodded almost imperceptibly. "That's good. It's good that you realise that."

"So? Just because I realise that I should, doesn't mean I will talk about them. It isn't that easy, Doc, what do you expect me to do?"

Sheldon hesitated, his knee shaking skittishly as his eyes darted towards the door Stella had left through. Perhaps he was hoping she would come back and save him from having to continue. But they could hear her clattering around the kitchen, humming to herself as she made the coffee.

"Look, Don… I-I know what you're going through. I just lost my Uncle Frank. It hurts, losing somebody you love. The man was like my best friend, you know? So I understand that you just feel helpless and sad and-"

"Angry? Like you want to rip out the throat of the bastard that did it? Your Uncle Frank died of cancer, Hawkes. You had time to accept that it was coming. You don't know squat about how I'm feeling," Don spat. A stab of guilt punched him as Sheldon flinched.

"You're right. I had time to accept it. But it didn't make it hurt any less. And by the way, I know exactly how it feels to want to kill a guy you've never even met. I know just how it is, seeing red and thinking the pain will drive you crazy because some ignorant asshole changed everything. Changed your life. Took someone from you."

"Kara," Don whispered, remembering how cut up Sheldon had been when his ex had been raped. He remembered the look on Sheldon's face which had stayed for weeks, and realised it was the same look on his own face right now. It wasn't exactly the same situation- Kara had lived- but the end result was the same. Sheldon had lost Kara forever. "Sheldon, I didn't think, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You're grieving. It's natural to lash out. I was like that for a long time too, remember?"

"How did you stop it? How did you start acting normally again?"

Sheldon hesitated again. "I-I couldn't. Not for a while. And then… then I had a talk with Mac."

"And?"

"He gave me this card. I've kept it ever since, just in case."

Sheldon reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small white card. He took it between thumb and forefinger and slid it across the glass coffee table. Don stared down at it warily.

"The Centre for Loss and Renewal, 168 West 86th Street," he read slowly, deliberately. "Marriage counselling… staff support… grief counselling."

The last two words reverberated off the walls. Don glared at Sheldon, who was nibbling on his lower lip and kept glancing at the door as though contemplating whether he should call for Stella or not.

"You… you should consider it, Don. They're very good, they could really help. They did with me."

"I'm not you," Don interjected. Sheldon continued nonetheless.

"They do group sessions, or one-to-one, if you prefer. You should give them a call, I-"

"No." Don's voice was positively glacial. "They cant help. Nobody can. Look, I appreciate you trying Sheldon, but the answer is no. This is just something I have to get through on my own. Thanks, but no thanks."

"Don, I really think you should give it further consideration. I'm telling you from experience, their psychiatrists are excellent, they really are. I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think- Don?"

Don had risen to his feet, looking livid. He glared down at the wary form of Sheldon Hawkes, his breathing coming in sharp pants. How could Hawkes possibly think he was helping? How could some doctor, a doctor who didn't know Jess or Danny, tell him how to feel better? And, come to think of it, _could_ he feel better, with Danny still lying unresponsive in that hospital cot? No, talking to a complete stranger about his feelings was the last thing he wanted to do.

"I'm. Not. Going. To. See. A. Shrink," he growled, turning on his heel and storming out the door. He had to get away. Away from Hawkes and Stella and the comforting words and pretence of understanding and stupid psychiatrists. His head hurt from the confusion of it all. He needed to get away. He needed to be alone.

_No,_ he corrected himself as he strode down the block, pointedly ignoring the plaintive calls of Stella and Sheldon which were following him down the street. _I need Jess._

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

**A/N #2: As always, I live for your reviews! They make me feel like someone is actually reading my work, so if you like what you're reading, please please please tell me! Go on, press that button… You know you want to!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

**A/N:Hey everybody! Praise be, the site is back functioning properly for me! So now I can add this chapter!**

**Credit for some of this chapter goes to afrozenheart412, who gave me the idea for the Sid conversation, and is generally a great reviewer. Maz101- you asked for some topless Don, so I put in a little bit just for you! The dream sequence is the result of an idea I had while talking to csiwendy07 a while ago. It was initially going to be part of a longer one-shot, but it seemed to fit for this story, so thanks Wendy!**

**Thanks to the reviewers of chapters 4 and 5: Maz101, DantanaMM, saturn567, afrozenheart412 and Yoda11. You guys are the best! **

**Disclaimer: as always, I do not own CSI: NY or any of the characters… However, I do wish I owned Don Flack… or Danny Messer… or Adam Ross, for that matter! *sad sigh***

**Love as always,**

**Ciara**

**x x x**

**/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/**

It was cold out. A bitter wind whistled through the trees lining the street, snatching at any exposed skin it could find. Don wore only dark jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His forearms were the same shade of pink as his numb cheeks, but he was oblivious to the cold. He only had one thing on his mind.

He would have hailed a cab, but he had left his wallet at Stella's, and he really didn't like the idea of going back and facing her and Hawkes. So he walked. He walked until his feet hurt and then he walked some more. Eventually, he stumbled onto Remsen Avenue. As though in a dream he wandered down the neat street, towards the place he was looking for.

Canarsie Cemetery.

It was perfect for her. The headstones were laid out in neat sections, many of them adorned with wreaths, teddy bears and bouquets of flowers. Trees lined the narrow gravel pathways, and the space between graves was planted with a carefully manicured lawn. The pink-tinged flowers of a cherry blossom tree floated across the graveyard, caught up in the breeze. They fell on the graves, decorating them with a beautiful tribute from nature to the stolen lives.

His feet knew their own way to her grave; they took him there on autopilot. Before he was even aware of the path he was taking, he had arrived. Her small plot of land was immaculate; her father and brothers made sure of that. They tended it with the same fierce protectiveness they had for Jess in life. It was overflowing with flowers and cards from people who had known Jess, a testament to her likeability. Of course, anyone who met her couldn't help but like her. She was the most wonderful, quirky, perfect soul Don had ever met. The headstone was an exquisite piece of white marble, as flawless as Jess herself, engraved with her name, date of birth and date of death, along with the following words:

Your leaving caused so many tears  
and such a lot of pain  
but God needed one more angel  
so he took you back again.

Goodbye, our lovely Angell.

_You would have liked it, wouldn't you?_ Don thought to himself. _It's just right for you._

In his mind's eye, he could see her smiling down at him. He felt so close to her here, closer than he did anywhere else, apart from her desk at the precinct. Some people would call it morbid, standing here imagining her talking to him. But Don couldn't help it. It just felt right.

He half-wished he had brought flowers or something. Every other time he had come, he had brought something. A single yellow rose, like the ones that had been on the table at the restaurant they had gone to on their first proper date. The purple patchwork teddy bear he had spent $50 on, attempting to win it for her at the carnival. A second-hand copy of _Wuthering Heights_ wrapped in plastic, because he had told her he would buy her a copy for Christmas and now would never have the chance. An ancient video copy of _Beauty and the Beast_ that he'd found in the attic and that had once been Sam's, because Jess had told him once that it was her favourite Disney movie. She liked how Belle read a lot, she had told him, being a bit of a bookworm herself. The last time he had come, he had brought the silver locket he had given her. He could still see it nestled amongst the rest of the things.

He couldn't have been standing there very long. Perhaps twenty minutes had passed when he became aware of the sound of shuffling footsteps grinding towards him over the gravel. He looked up and to his surprise saw the rail-thin figure of Sid Hammerback limping towards the grave, a bunch of pink carnations in a blue plastic bag in his right hand.

"Don." The older man didn't sound surprised to see him there. He bent over the grave and removed a slightly wilted bunch of carnations, replacing them with the ones he had brought with him.

"You come here often?" Don asked in a subdued voice.

"Most days," replied Sid, shaking his head wearily. "You would think, seeing death every day like I do, I would get indifferent to it after a while. But I don't. Or, I do, when it isn't one of our own lying on that table. When I know the person… It just takes me that much longer to get my head around it. This is how I deal with it. It was the same when Aiden died. I still visit her grave sometimes… Just not as often anymore."

Don stared at the older man as it suddenly began to rain quite heavily. He didn't know Sid as well as he knew some of the others working in the crime lab, so he was pleasantly surprised by this touching gesture. "I-I didn't know that," he whispered. "That's real nice, Sid. Jess would appreciate it."

"I liked her," Sid replied simply. "Jess was a sweet, funny, courageous young woman. Any day that she came into the lab, she always had a corny joke or funny story to make me smile. She said that since I was around death so much I needed a laugh, and she never failed to provide one."

Don smiled slightly. That had been Jess through and through; it pleased him that Sid knew that side of her so well. "You liked Aiden, too," he pressed.

"She was a good person. And she made Danny smile before Lindsay was around to do that."

Don nodded again. "How come you don't visit her grave so much anymore?"

"I visited her every day for two months," said Sid in a quiet voice. "But then one day I had been standing at her grave for about a half an hour. It was raining, just like now, but I didn't even notice until Stella came with an umbrella. I had a cold for about a week, and when I was stuck at home, I could imagine what Aiden would have said. She would have killed me for doing that to myself. She would have wanted me to move on. So I did. For her. And I will move on from this too, in time. So will you, Don."

"I doubt it," Don sighed and turned his eyes skywards towards the now heavy rainfall. "But maybe we _should_ get out of here. Don't want you catching cold again."

"Sure. Would you like a ride back to Stella's?" Sid smiled sadly at him as he nodded gratefully. Don reached into his bouquet and pulled out a single pink carnation. Sid shot him a questioning look, but he didn't reply.

On the way to the cemetery gate, Don made a quick detour. He touched the headstone briefly as he laid the carnation on the grave.

"Take care of Jess for me, OK Aiden?"

And he hurried off to catch up with Sid, who was now waiting patiently by his car.

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

Sid dropped Don off at Stella's place, waiting until he got inside before driving away with a wave. Don took a deep breath and braced himself for a serious lecture.

But when he knocked on the door, it wasn't a furious Stella who answered. It was a thoroughly relieved one, who grabbed him in a breathless hug, pale beneath her sallow skin. It was only once she had pulled away and assessed him for damage that the scowl he had been anticipating fell into place.

"Stel, look I-"

"You really are an idiot, you know that?"

"You do have a habit of reminding me on a daily basis, so yeah, I know I'm an idiot."

Stella bit down hard on her lip and slapped his arm. "_Don't_ make me laugh when I'm trying to yell at you. It's very distracting."

Don held his hands up. "Sorry, sorry, please continue yelling."

She glared at him for a minute, then hugged him again.

"Ever considered the idea that you might be schizophrenic?"

"Shut up," Stella frowned. "I just find it hard to be mad at you when you're all pathetic and dripping wet. But where the hell have you been? Sheldon's been circling the block since you left, looking for you."

"Cemetery," explained Don, and Stella nodded with an "Oh," of comprehension. "I should call Sheldon, I was a real ass to him."

"I'll call him and tell him you're alright. You can apologize tomorrow. For now, you need to get out of those clothes before you contract pneumonia." And Stella pushed him into the bathroom before he could protest, pulling his wet shirt over his head as they went and tossing it in her laundry basket. "Hot shower. Now."

So as Stella went to call Hawke and tell him he could stop searching, Don was left shivering in the bathroom with no shirt on. He grabbed a towel from the closet and struggled out of his damp sweat pants before dodging under the hot stream of water.

When he emerged fifteen minutes later, feeling marginally less frostbitten, Stella was sitting on the sofa, nursing a cup of hot chocolate and looking pensive. Don strode over and sat down beside her, eying the second mug sitting on the coffee table hopefully.

"Oh, go ahead and drink it already. You know I'm a sucker for a man with puppy-dog eyes. It's how Mac gets around me so much."

"Look, Stella, I'm sorry about running off like that. I guess with everything that's been going on recently, I've forgotten how to act like a human being," said Don, sipping his hot chocolate.

"It's understandable. I wasn't mad that you yelled at Sheldon though, and neither was he. We were just worried about you. You're our friend."

"Thanks Stella. But I mean it, if there's anything I can do to make it up to you for being such a tool these past few days, tell me and I'll do it."

"We-ell, there is one thing…" Stella smiled, putting her mug down on a coaster.

"Name it."

"Run into the kitchen and grab some mini-marshmallows from the corner cupboard. I love them in my hot chocolate."

Don did so, still feeling slightly guilty as he observed the dark purple rings under Stella's eyes and realized he must be responsible for at least one or two of the sleepless nights that had caused them.

Once he had finished his drink, he bade Stella goodnight with yet another apology.

"Can it, Flack. You're making me feel nauseous."

Smiling to himself, Don went into his bedroom and changed into his pajamas. He touched his hand briefly to the photo of Jess sitting on his nightstand before hopping into bed and switching off the light.

He usually had a hard time getting to sleep, but tonight he found his eyelids feeling extremely heavy. Perhaps it was the fact that he'd been to see Jess, which always made him feel a little closer to her, or maybe it was the after-effects of the hot chocolate, which always made him sleepy. Whatever the cause, soon Don found himself drifting into sleep…

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

_Don was sitting at his desk in the precinct. At least, it looked like his desk at the precinct. But his in-tray wasn't overflowing, his 'World's Greatest Detective' mug wasn't in it's usual spot, his 'NYPD Blue' teddy bear wasn't hidden in the bottom drawer and the entire room seemed to be deserted. It was the precinct and yet… _not_._

_Just as he was thinking this, a door burst open behind him and a breeze ran down his spine. Before he had a chance to turn around, someone had smacked him across the head with such force that it made him dizzy._

"_What the hell?" he demanded, spinning around in his swivel chair. He was about to say something x-rated, but when he saw his assailant his breath caught in his chest and he forgot what he was going to say._

_Jessica Angell had hopped onto his desk and was sitting cross-legged with her arms folded__ across her chest__, scowling furiously at him. She looked spectacular, even in anger, her long dark hair curling lazily around her and her dark eyes glinting in the light of the flickering bulb overhead. She was wearing the clothes she had died in, but they were completely spotless, and she was perfectly unscathed. Don's heart was beating so fast it hurt._

"_Jess, I… What? How…?"_

"_You really are an idiot, you know that?" Jess demanded, putting her hands on her hips and frowning so hard that a tiny crease appeared between her eyebrows._

"_Yeah, I've heard that," said Don faintly, remembering how Stella had said the exact same thing earlier. "But Jess, I don't understand… I mean, are you OK? Are you happy, in heaven or wherever you are now? And what are you doing in my dream, alive? Usually when I dream of you, you're on the autopsy table and-"_

"_Shut up, Don," Jess groaned, sounding bored. She leaned across and stroked his cheek longingly. "I'm here because I want to be. I've been watching you, and I gotta say, while some people might find it very romantic that you're moping around the place like a little kid who's just found out the truth about Santa Claus, frankly I find it annoying."_

"_Annoying?" repeated Don weekly._

"_Yeah, annoying! Jeez Don, did it escape your notice in the time we were together that I hate moping? And that, more importantly, I loved to live life to the full. I would have thought that skinny-dipping at Coney Island would have tipped you off…" She trailed off, apparently lost in this happy memory. "Anyway, my point is: stop moping!"_

"_But Jess, it's just so hard… Every day, I see things that remind me of you and it hurts so bad. It hurts worse than anything I've ever felt, I feel like my heart has been ripped out of my chest. And it's even harder because sometimes I feel like I want to just die already and be with you, but then I know I'm too weak, and then I think of Stella and Mac and everyone and how it would make them feel if they lost someone else and… and I don't know how I feel anymore," he finished miserably, feeling his eyes well up. Jess leaned down and stroked his cheeks again, wiping the trickling tears away. She pulled at the corners of his mouth, trying to turn it up into a smile._

"_First thing's first," she said softly, kissing his cheek. "Don't you ever think about dying on me, not ever! How the hell do you think it would make me feel if I was responsible for your death? Secondly, if you care so much about how everyone else feels, what are you doing avoiding the hospital? I swear, you're like Adam confronted with a hot girl!"_

"_I-I dunno," Don gasped. "I just- it reminds me of you, OK? It makes me think of what happened when I brought you there and I don't want to be there."_

"_That's all well and good, sweetie, but Danny needs you. Lindsay needs you. Little Lucy needs you. You have to stop being afraid of what happened to me. It happened, that's it. And I know you're hurting- It hurts me too, being apart from you- but you have to try. For Danny. For me. Please." Her eyes were burning with some unidentifiable emotion as she pressed her lips forcefully to his. "Please, Don. Please try," she murmured through the kiss._

"_I can't," Don moaned, breathing in her floral scent. "Not without you, Jess."_

"_God, you _are_ stupid!" groaned Jess, smacking him on the arm. "You won't _be_ without me, Don. I'm always with you. Always. I'm the good feeling you get when you tell a mother you know who killed her child. I'm the flash of sunlight on a cloudy day. I'm that inexplicable happiness you feel when you wake up one morning in a good mood and you don't know why. Don't you get it? I'm always there. Even though I can't touch your cheek or hold your hand or whisper your name, I'm there. I'm always with you."_

"_Always?" Don whispered, hugging her tight to him._

"_Always," confirmed Jess._

"_Thank you." He felt like laughing with the good feeling the notion sent shuddering through him._

"_Right, now get the hell out of here. Technically, you shouldn't be here. Aiden would kill me if she found you here… I mean, you know, if I wasn't already…"_

"_Hold on… Aiden? So then this is- is heaven? Heaven is the precinct?" He almost laughed aloud at the very suggestion._

"_For me," Jess shrugged. "I love my work, but it's different for each person. Now get gone!" She leaned across once more, sliding properly into his lap for the first time. She kissed him again, a softer, sweeter kiss than before. "Love you."_

"_Love you more," Don smiled, gazing at her. He looked around for the door Jess had come through, but there was none to be seen. "Uh, Jess… How exactly _do_ I get out of here?"_

_Jess rolled her eyes and ruffled his hair. "Try waking up, genius. World's Greatest Detective my ass…"_

_She pushed him away from her…_

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

…. And Don woke up.

The dream stuck in his head so clearly, it could have been real. Don tossed the duvet away from him and got dressed in a hurry, whirling around the room frantically.

"Don?"

He looked up from tying his tie to see Stella standing in the doorway, staring at him. She was dressed in her blue bathrobe.

"Don, where are you going? It's 7 a.m."

"Sorry to wake you, Stel. I have to go to the hospital. Right now."

"Oh," Stella said, attempting not to sound too surprised. "I- what changed your mind?"

"I had a visit from an Angell in the night."

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

**A/N #2: Sorry if it was a bit cheesy! Please please please read and review!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

**A/N:Alrighty then everyone, I'm back with another instalment of our slightly cheesy and quite depressing story… Let's see how this chapter goes, shall we?**

**Thanks as always go to those loyal, wonderful people known as reviewers: saturn567, Maz101, DantanaMM and afrozenheart412. Reviews are love, so right about now I'm feeling pretty darn loved up- 35 reviews as of chapter 6! Keep up the good work people, and anyone who wants to join the league of awesome people: just review!!!**

**Anywho, that's enough rambling. There's just one thing left to do before we can get on with our not-so-thrilling tale…**

**Disclaimer: Much as I hate to admit it, I am not the owner of CSI:NY or any of the characters… *sniffles sadly***

**Love as always,**

**Ciara**

**x x x**

**/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/**

It took Don approximately two minutes to convince Stella that he was neither drunk nor suffering from a nervous breakdown. It took a further ten minutes for him to gobble down some toast and a mug of coffee while Stella put on something more suitable than her bright blue bathrobe. It then took another two minutes for Stella to force Don into putting on a jacket so that he wouldn't freeze to death in the snow that had fallen overnight.

And they had now been standing on the sidewalk for fifteen minutes, shivering and waiting in vain for a cab to pull up.

"You couldn't have waited to have your epiphany until more cabs were on the streets, I suppose?" Stella grumbled, shifting from foot to foot as she tried to keep warm. "Waiting until a decent hour too hard for you?" But she was smiling, and Don knew she was happy that he had decided to go to see Danny, even if it did mean he had woken her at such an unearthly hour on her day off.

"Sorry, divine inspiration doesn't run according to the sleeping patterns of Stella Bonasera," teased Don half-heartedly, shrinking further into the depths of the warm jacket Stella had forced him to wear. Though he would never admit it to her, it was a good idea; snow was still falling thick and fast, and a bitter wind was whistling through the streets of New York.

Don stared up the street, willing a bright yellow cab to appear. Stella was still mumbling darkly under her breath about frostbite and hypothermia and pneumonia.

"Hypochondriac much?" he muttered audibly, causing Stella to shoot him a venomous glare. She opened her mouth to retort, but was cut off when a scream sliced through the cold morning air.

The detectives in them took over as their sharp eyes scanned the area for the voice behind the scream. Just as they were about to set off in the direction it had come from, there was a flurry of movement at the mouth of a narrow alley leading onto Stella' street.

"No Sam, no!" a boy of about ten shrieked, sprinting down the pathway, which was carpeted in a crystal-bright covering of crisp, white snow. "Sam, don't do it! I'm sorry!"

"You should have thought about that before you put one down my neck," Sam replied, running after his friend in hot pursuit. His ears stuck out prominently from under a striped hat, and a neatly-formed snowball was clutched in one gloved hand. "Take that, Robbie!"

The boy named Robbie yelled as the snowball made contact with the back of his jacket. He hastily bent down and scooped up a retaliatory snowball, turning on Sam and chasing him back the way they had come, his fair hair sticking up in every direction. Both of their youthful faces were alight with joy and excitement, even at this hour of the morning. Their shrieks and laughter could be heard echoing in the street even after they had disappeared back down the alleyway from which they had come.

Don watched the best friends with misty eyes and had to swallow hard to get rid of the lump that had formed in his throat. He felt a light hand grasp his arm and he looked down to find Stella smiling sadly up at him, a knowing expression in her astute eyes. Neither of them said anything. They had no need to.

After a long moment, Stella sighed with relief and released Don's arm with a pat. "About time," she muttered as a cab finally pulled up on the kerb in response to her outstretched arm. She pulled open the door and waited for Don to get in.

"Isn't it supposed to be the man holding the door for the lady?" he asked wryly. Stella just shook her head at his pitiful attempt at humour and told the driver where they wanted to go.

Stella buckled her belt, then leaned across to do Don's when she realised he wasn't going to. He was just sitting there, bolt upright, his hands clenched so tightly it looked like his knuckles would burst. There was a tic in his cheek as he gnawed on his bottom lip. Stella patted his arm again.

"Hey," she said, dropping her voice so that the driver wouldn't overhear. "It's alright to be nervous. But you'll be fine. I promise." She put her tanned hand on top of his pale, clenched one. Don turned his face to her, looking bleak.

"It's not me I'm worried about," he murmured back. After his outburst the last time he'd been in that hospital room, Lindsay might be less than overjoyed to see him. Stella squeezed his hand sympathetically and the rest of the cab ride passed in silence until the driver pulled to an abrupt stop outside the hospital. Don reached for his wallet, then realised it was still sitting on Stella's breakfast bar along with a half-finished bowl of mushy cornflakes. He cussed under his breath.

"Don't worry about it," Stella smiled knowingly. Her silver purse was already in her hand and she was asking the driver how much the fare was before Don could protest. "You've got enough on your mind as it is."

Don nodded mutely and got out. This time he held the door for Stella, and the two of them walked together through the glass-and-chrome front doors of the hospital. Immediately, the sickly scent of urine and disinfectant assaulted Don's nostrils. He hated that smell. It was the smell of death.

Breathing through his nose as best he could, Don followed meekly in Stella's wake as she led him towards a row of elevators. They jumped into the fourth one and Stella pressed a finger to the button for the fifth floor. It was only once they were inside that Don noticed the little girl sitting in the wheelchair. She had long, dark hair and sallow skin, with sparkly brown eyes and a cheeky expression. She was watching Don thoughtfully.

"Hi," she said after a moment in a chirpy voice. "My name's Tessa, what's yours?"

"Don," Stella supplied quickly, once she realised the comparison Don was making in his head. "His name's Don. And I'm Stella. It's nice to meet you, Tessa."

"You too. Are you visiting?"

"Yeah, a friend of ours is very sick."

"I'm sick too. I've been here almost a week because I have pneumonia. I like talking to people around the hospital, especially the nurses and the little kids. They get scared sometimes. I tell them not to be."

"That's lovely Tessa," smiled Stella. "You're a very kind girl."

"Thanks. My mom doesn't say that, not when I'm yelling at her," Tessa grinned impishly. "What's your friend's name? Maybe I know them."

"Oh, I-I doubt it. He's very sick," said Stella delicately. "He got hurt by some bad people."

"I'm sorry to hear that. But what's his name?" Tessa persisted. "Sometimes I go exploring. Some of the families talk to me. I might know him."

"OK, well his name is Danny. Danny Messer."

"Messer… Messer… Wait, is his wife's name Lindsay?"

"That's the one. You're a smart girl, Tessa."

"Not really. I suck at math," the little girl grinned. "But I like Lindsay. Sometimes when she's tired and Lucy is crying, she let's me baby-sit. She pays me in jellybeans. I share them with Adam sometimes. He's funny."

"Yeah, yeah he is," agreed Stella. Just then, the door opened onto the fifth floor. "Well, this is us. Bye, Tessa, it was nice to meet you. Get well soon." She tugged Don along with her.

"Bye Stella, bye Don!" Tessa called after them. "Tell Adam I'll drop by later to help him unlock the next track on Mariokart. Oh, and tell Danny to get well soon too!"

The lift doors closed again and Stella and Don were left standing in a clean, white corridor. Don could feel Stella's eyes on him and willed himself to look like he wasn't about to cry.

"Um… Come on, Danny's room is this way," Stella said in a quiet voice. Of course, Don knew that. He knew exactly where Danny's room was. And Stella knew that he knew. He guessed that she just needed to find something to say. Feeling like his voice would soon vanish from lack of use, Don followed her down the tiled corridor and attempted to keep the frantic beating of his heart under control. He was surprised Stella couldn't hear it leaping about in his chest.

"Here we are," murmured Stella as they drew to a stop. The door of the private room was closed, but Lucy's pram stood in the corridor beside Adam, who was fiddling with the buttons of a red Gameboy, his brow furrowed in concentration. Stella gave the smallest of coughs to indicate their presence. Startled, Adam looked up with wide eyes.

"Hey Stella- Oh! G-good to see you… should I call you Flack or Don? I never know which," Adam gabbled. Then, as though remembering something suddenly, he lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "Lindsay and Lucy are in with him. I was sitting with them while Mac, Sid and Sheldon went to get something to eat- we're all finished our shifts so we decided to come down together, we were going to call but… Anyway, I was sitting with them but then they fell asleep and Lindsay's hardly slept at all lately so I figured I'd give them some peace and quiet and… and I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"Hit the nail on the head there Adam," Stella laughed quietly. "Will the others be back soon?"

"Should be. They were just going for some coffee, I think, and to call Danny's mom and tell her there was no change. Hey Stella, are you any good at Mariokart?" There was a pause and Adam hastily looked back to the screen of his console. "OK, stupid question. Clearly, Stella Bonasera doesn't do video games."

"Correct. But we were talking to your new friend Tessa in the elevator. She said she'd drop by later. Honestly Adam, getting help from an eight-year-old girl? Isn't that a serious dent in your ego?"

"Nope. I happen to look beyond the superficial- the girl's got skills," said Adam with a shrug, before glancing warily at Don, who hadn't spoken throughout this conversation. "Hey, Flack, man… It's good to see you. Lindsay will be so happy, she was worried about you."

_Typical Monroe_, Don thought to himself. _Even with her husband lying comatose in a hospital bed and a newborn baby to look after, she still finds the time to worry about me._ That made him feel guilty, but also made him want to rush inside and show her that he was fine, show her that he had come out of the trance, show her that he was here for Danny after all.

This desire must have shown on his face, because Stella nudged him towards the closed door. "Go on in," she whispered to him. "You've waited long enough."

Tentatively, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. The first things he saw were the flowers. The windowsill was overflowing with gifts from well-wishers in a rainbow of colours. There were dozens of 'Get Well Soon' cards hanging on a string along the curtain rail, and a couple of dopey-looking teddy bears sat on a small table in the corner.

Lindsay sat in one of the room's two chairs, sound asleep. She was pale and gaunt with deep purple shadows clotting under her eyes and new lines on her face that hadn't been there before. She had no makeup on, and her brown hair was tousled and in need of a wash. She was wearing one of Danny's favourite blue shirts, hanging open over her maternity-sized white vest. Her head had fallen forward so that her chin rested on her chest, but even in sleep she was cradling her baby protectively. Wrapped in a pale pink blanket and wearing a tiny white hat, Lucy Messer was beautiful. Her tiny cherubic features were relaxed in sleep, her mouth slightly open and her miniature fingers grasping a lock of her mother's hair as she lay against her.

It made Don smile to see them like that.

Steeling himself, he turned his attention to the bed where Danny lay motionless as ever. At the sight of his fallen friend, all courage failed him. The impassioned, inspiring speech he had formulated in his head the whole way to the hospital deserted him in an instant, leaving his head devoid of anything but crippling fear.

Maybe he had pushed the hospital room to the back of his mind once he'd left the first time. Maybe when he'd thought about it he had painted a falsely positive picture in his head, so that it didn't seem so bad. Whatever the reason, he had not remembered it correctly.

It was a thousand times worse than he remembered.

Danny's normally sallow complexion was only a couple of shades darker than the white sheets covering him. There were wires and tubes leading everywhere, riddling his skin. He was connected to several drips and there were bandages everywhere from where he'd hurt himself when he had fallen to the ground. He was thinner than Don had ever seen him, weaker, more vulnerable. The hospital gown hung loosely from his frail form and it hurt Don to look at him. It wasn't just some stranger lying there. It was Danny. His friend.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, to let Danny know he was here. To let him know he cared, that he wanted him to wake up. To tell him he was sorry he hadn't come sooner. To say anything at all.

But the only noise that came out was a squeak of pain. His whole body began to tremble and he could feel his shoulders shaking violently. It was like Jess all over again.

The tears that had been threatening to fall again ever since the night Stella had found him lying on his bare mattress clutching those two photographs burst from him. They clouded his vision and hurt every part of him as they exploded from his eyes, jolting his body and stopping him from breathing properly. He stumbled forwards and sat down in the chair beside Danny's bed, clutching at the wire-riddled hand of his best friend. He said nothing, just cried and cried. He cried until it felt like he had no tears left to cry, and then he cried some more. He cried for Jess and for Danny and for Lindsay and Lucy and everyone else who had ever died or lost someone close to them. He cried for the people everywhere who felt like he was feeling right now.

Suddenly, there was a small hand on his shoulder. Swiping ferociously at his leaking eyes, Don glanced up to find Lindsay looking down at him through sad brown eyes. He hadn't noticed her wake up. She carefully placed the still-sleeping Lucy in the cot next to the bed and then pulled her chair up beside Don's. She slipped her arm around his shoulders comfortingly and rubbed his arm.

"I've got a rule," she said, her voice still husky with sleep. "No crying in here unless you're a month old baby girl named Lucy. You know how Danny is about mushy displays of emotion."

"S-sorry," muttered Don, stifling a sniffle.

"Don't worry about it, I lose my nerve sometimes too. I can't help myself… Seeing him here, like this, it's just… it's just really hard, you know? Ever since I first met him, Danny's just been so strong, so- so not like this," she finished despairingly, waving her hand over Danny.

"I know, right," whispered Don weakly. "Lindz, I'm so sorry about what I said before, the last time I was here. It was cruel and stupid and- and I didn't mean any of it. I was just feeling-"

"Like your best friend was dying," Lindsay inserted softly. "I get it. And I know you never meant it."

"Thanks Lindz. How's he doing?"

"A little better, but not much. He can breathe on his own now, no ventilator. But that's about the size of it."

"Lindz, do you ever think maybe…"

"Never," she snapped sharply. "I never think about the idea of him not waking up, and you shouldn't either. He will wake up. He has to. I _know_ he will." She said it with such force she almost had Don believing in the fantasy too.

"How can you be so sure?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"Hello! This is _Danny Messer_ we're talking about here, in case you'd forgotten. He's the most hard-headed, stubborn idiot I've ever met. When he gets an idea into his head, he just won't let it go. You think he's going to go and die when he's got a wife and daughter waiting on him? Come to think of it, you think he's going to die when the asshole who shot him is still walking free? No chance. He'll pull through, because he's too stubborn not to."

"You know him so well," Don smiled, melting into her hug and wishing her sentiments were true. But he knew that being stubborn as an ass wasn't going to affect medicine.

"Yup. I love him, I've been telling him so every day, just in case he forgets. And I tell him for Lucy too, of course. She wants her daddy back. You know, I've never seen him as happy as the day she was born. He's going to be such an amazing dad."

"That isn't true. Not the part about him being a great dad," amended Don hastily at the look on her face. "I mean, I have seen him as happy as that day. When he came back from the Court House with a wedding ring on his finger."

Lindsay smiled at him and hugged him tighter. "That was some day. At first, I didn't know whether I wanted to strangle him or kiss him…. I know you think I'm being unrealistic, but I can't do anything other than think he'll be alright. I have to believe that he will, because I can't bare the thought of life without him. I can't bare the idea of my baby girl growing up without her daddy. So I stay positive. I believe he'll pull through. He's a fighter, Danny Messer, you know that as well as I do. He'll be up and about soon, chasing any snot-nosed little boys who even dare to look at Lucy. Buying her tasers and pepper spray for her birthday too, no doubt."

Don smiled slightly. "Here's hoping, kiddo. I'll be the first in line to smack him one for scaring us so bad, I can promise you that much."

"You'll have to get in line, his mom and I have first dibs," Lindsay smirked. "You here that, Messer? If you die, I'll kill you with my bare hands!"

It wasn't even particularly funny. Don should have been too worried about what would happen if he didn't wake up to find it humorous. But something about that last sentence made him snap. Suddenly he was laughing; hysterical, raucous laughter that made his cheeks burn and his stomach hurt. He couldn't even remember the last time he had laughed like this. Lindsay joined in, her soft laugh tinkling like silver bells in the wind. The two of them sat there, laughing like maniacs, until they couldn't laugh anymore. Then they just sat in silence, gasping for air and feeling the laughter ebb away. It was a strange feeling- happy for reasons unknown, and yet somehow empty at the same time.

Lindsay's stomach rumbled, breaking the silence.

"Hungry?" Don smiled, poking her in the ribs.

"I'm fine," she said quickly. Too quickly to be entirely believable.

"_Lindsay_."

"Maybe I'm a little peckish," she admitted. "But I can wait until later."

"When was the last time you ate?"

"Um- it was…"

"You can't remember, can you?" Don had to work hard to keep the accusatory note from his voice.

"Not exactly. I've been mostly living on a diet of coffee, with a jelly doughnut every couple of days…"

"Lindsay Messer!" exclaimed Don. "At the risk of sounding like an overbearing parent, you're health is important. You have a baby daughter to consider, you know. Go. Eat. I'll hold down the fort here."

"You sure?"

"Certain. Go on. _Go._ What do you think Danny will do to me when he wakes up to find his best bud let his wife starve herself? Jelly doughnuts are not a balanced diet. Now get gone!"

Perhaps buoyed by Don's use of the word 'when' in place of 'if', Lindsay nodded her head submissively and stood up. She leaned across Don and brushed her lips to Danny's forehead briefly before grabbing her bag, gathering a newly-woken Lucy up in her arms and trudging out the door tiredly.

Don could hear the other noises in the hospital around him. The rhythmic beeping of machines. The scream of ambulance sirens. A bird chirping in the tree outside the window. Stella and the others speaking in hushed tones outside the door. He could hear it all.

But all he was listening to was the machine beside the bed. The beeping that told him that his friend was still very much alive, that his heart was still pounding away in his chest. A fighter, Lindsay had said. She had been right.

After a couple of minutes, Don became acutely aware that he was alone with Danny. Properly alone. No sleeping Lindsay in the other chair, no Lucy squirming in her plastic hospital-issue cot.

Just him and his best friend.

Cautiously, he pulled his chair closer to the bed. For a moment, he considered taking the patient's hand. Then he remembered that it was Danny Messer lying in that bed, and that if he ever found out that Don Flack had held his hand while he was in a coma, Don would be eating food through a straw for the rest of his life. Compromising, he placed a hand on Danny's shoulder.

"Hey Danno, how you doing buddy? Sorry I didn't come sooner, I've been having a rough time dealing with all of this, man." He sighed and looked down at Danny's unresponsive form. "Look, once I bucked up the courage to come here, I started thinking about what I could say to you. Something inspiring and emotional and powerful enough to just make you wake the hell up. But what is there to say that somebody else hasn't said already? I've been wracking my brains the whole way here, thinking up a neat little speech that I could say. But you've never exactly been a fan of greeting-card poems and motivational speaking, have you Danno? You're just like me; you call 'em like you see 'em, you don't hold back, you say exactly what you're thinking and you stand up for what you believe in."

He fidgeted with a frayed cuff on his jacket sleeve, feeling awkward and unsure of himself. He could just imagine the stick Danny would give him for this emotional, girly outburst. "I can't do sweetness. That's really more of a Lindsay thing, or something Stella would do…. Even Adam can do it better than me, and we both know his social skills don't amount to very much. Here's the situation Messer: you better hurry up and snap out of it. I need a wing-man. I need someone to bring me home when I have one or five too many at Sullivan's and to occasionally have one or five too many with me. I need someone to cover for me when my alarm doesn't go off, someone who doesn't ask too many questions when I disappear for a couple of days. And let's be honest, who else is there? Mac, Mr. Discipline himself? Stella? Like she'd be able to haul my ass up six flights of stairs to my apartment. Lindsay- well, I'm sure she'd be in the mood to find a new best friend with her husband still lying in a hospital bed. Adam? The guy's too intimidated by me to even call me by my first name! Doesn't leave many options, does it? The only person who can do it is you, Messer."

He wasn't sure how it had happened, but somewhere during this speech his hand had crept down to clutch his friend's tightly. He leaned in closer to Danny's face and whispered in his ear, "I'm not Lindsay, Danno. I'm not going to delude myself into thinking you'll just wake up and everything will be fine and dandy. I know how much you love Lindsay and Lucy, so I promise you this- if you don't wake up, I'll make sure they're OK. I'll do my best to take care of them for you. I'll even spend my hard-earned salary on a GPS tracker so that Lindsay knows where your little girl is every minute of every day." He squeezed Danny's hand tighter. "I don't know what else to say to you, Messer, I really don't. The only other thing I can offer you is a shameless bribe: wake up and I swear drinks are on me for a whole year. For the whole team. You know yourself how tight I am, so that must prove how desperate I am for you to wake up and smell the- well, I was going to say roses, but it's more like old people and cheap air freshener. That's all I've got buddy."

"That's so sweet Don," came a voice from the doorway. He looked up self-consciously to see Lindsay beaming down at him, Lucy clutched in her arms and tears sparkling in her intelligent brown eyes. "That's exactly the sort of thing Danny wants to hear from his best friend."

She was saying something else, and there were other voices speaking out in the corridor, but Don couldn't hear what they were saying. He had dropped to his knees and was staring at Danny's body lying in the bed.

"Don, what's wrong? Is-"

"H-his eyes," Don gasped breathlessly. "Lindsay, can you see that or am I hallucinating? His eyelids are- they're-"

"Fluttering," she breathed. "No, I… I see it too. Don, I see it too!"

And they were right. His eyelids were indeed fluttering, slivers of blue iris and white eyeball visible beneath his feathery lashes. Lindsay rushed over and propped Lucy against her shoulder, grabbing Danny's other hand from under the sheets.

"Lindsay- Lindz, he's squeezing my hand! I'm sure, I can feel it… He just did it again!"

"Mine too, mine too!" Lindsay shrieked, half-sobbing, half-laughing. "Don, this is good right? This has to be good!"

"Stella!" yelled Don hoarsely. "Mac! Adam! Anyone! Someone just call a doctor!"

"What is it?" Stella asked, sticking her head around the door.

"JUST CALL A DOCTOR!" they screamed in unison.

Tears were streaming down Don's face as well as Lindsay's. Neither of them could bare to tear their gaze from Danny's face, and neither of them could formulate coherent speech.

Then the doctor came, followed closely by a couple of nurses. It was Dr. Wylde again, the same redhead with the ponytail from that first night. Don and Lindsay were removed from the room, and the door closed in their face without a word of explanation.

And then they were left to wait.

Mac was pacing up and down, and Stella was shadowing his footsteps. Hawkes was firing questions at Lindsay and Don, attempting to figure out what was going on. Sid was sitting quietly a little way away, his head in his hands. There was a wooden rosary beads dangling from his fingers. Adam sat near him, fingers flying frantically over the buttons of his console so fast that they seemed to blur, and the word "Please" kept slipping between his clenched teeth at regular intervals. Don and Lindsay answered Sheldon in monosyllables, but spent most of the time staring at the door to Danny's room as though it was the most engrossing film they had ever seen, willing it to open.

The wait seemed to stretch on forever. There were a few half-hearted mentions of coffee, and Mac left a rushed message on Danny's mom's voicemail, but nobody wanted to move even an inch.

After what seemed like several hours, the door opened and Dr. Wylde stepped out. Her expression was unreadable as she surveyed the group huddled in front of her.

"Mr. Messer would like to see Lindsay, Lucy and Don," she said, breaking into a warm smile.

"Oh… Oh… _Oh_!" Lindsay's relieved gasps were music to Don's ears. There were whoops and sobs and cheers from the others as Lindsay tugged him into the room with more force than he would have guessed her tiny frame could possess.

"Thank you," she whispered to him, grabbing him in a one-armed hug.

"What for?"

"He was waiting for you. He needed his best friend here. Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

And before he could reply they had burst into the room and all he could think about was Danny. Danny, who was still lying down, but whose bright blue eyes were comfortingly, miraculously open. Danny, who was grinning goofily up at them as though he had just tripped and missed a step on the stairs. Danny, who was incredibly and wonderfully _alive_.

"You jerk!" Lindsay screamed, running at him and punching him in the shoulder. "How. Could. You. Do. This. To. Us?"

"I'm sorry baby, I'm so sorry!" Danny gasped, pulling his wife and daughter close to him. "Where's my baby girl? It's Daddy, Lucy. Daddy's back."

Don stood awkwardly by the door throughout this emotional reunion, wishing he wasn't intruding. But then Lindsay beamed over at him from where she lay with her head on Danny's chest and his best friend beckoned imperiously to him.

"You're an idiot Messer," Don growled, pumping his hand energetically. "If you ever make me go mushy and off the rails again, even Lindsay won't be able to stop me kicking your ass."

"Sorry, next time I'll inform the gun-toting maniac that if he shoots me, my best friend will kill me, shall I? I'm sure he'll be very understanding."

"And there I was hoping being comatose would have gotten rid of some of that disgusting sarcasm," sighed Don. "I guess cheetahs really don't change their spots."

Danny grinned cheekily at him in that irritating way he had of making you want to both punch his lights out and hug him simultaneously.

"Hey buddy," he smirked. "I'm holding you to your promise. Maybe you should call Sullivan's and tell them to start a tab for you. Then come over here and give me a masculine, non-gay hug"

Don Flack had never done what Danny Messer asked of him without a smart comment before. This time, he couldn't have been happier to comply.

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

**A/N #2: Like? Dislike? There's only one way to let me know. Go on, you know you want to…. REVIEW!**


	8. The Last Chapter

**The Last Chapter**

**A/N:Alright then, here we are for the last time in Déjà Vu. I don't know what to think; I'm quite sad that it's over, but on the plus side this is the first multi-chaptered fic that I have actually finished, so I guess I should be happy about that!**

**Thanks as always to the wonderful, fantastic, brilliant people who are my loyal reviewers: wolfeylady, saturn567, DantanaMM, Dani, Maz101 and afrozenheart412. You guys, you've kept me writing throughout, so well done! If anybody else wants to review but hasn't- this is your last chance!**

**Note: I am not a priest. So I don't know if everything will be exactly right.**

**Disclaimer: No. I'm in denial. I won't say it.**

**Enjoy the very last chapter….**

**Love as always,**

**Ciara**

**x x x**

**/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/**

**3 months later:**

"Hey Don, thanks for coming."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Lindz. Where's the star of the show?"

"She's right over there," Lindsay beamed, pointing with a manicured fingernail. "Turning into a real daddy's girl too, as you can see."

Don followed her gaze to the very front pew, where Danny sat dressed in a crisp, dark suit. He still looked fatigued, drained even, paler than he had been before the shooting and with purple rings under his brilliant blue eyes. His crutch was propped against the seat beside him, and his blonde-brown hair stuck up in every direction as per usual. As Don and Lindsay watched, he stifled a huge yawn, a by-product of the intensive physical therapy he was undergoing to enable him to walk unaided again. Despite the exhaustion, his face split into a blissful grin as he hoisted Lucy in the air above his head, her long white gown twirling gracefully around her small body as she gurgled contentedly. Don beamed at the scene.

Don leaned closer to Lindsay and whispered in her ear, "Just thought I should let you know- we got the bar shooter late last night. After you guys got us the name the gun was registered to, we've been hunting the idiot down night and day. Barker and I found him in a strip club last night. Gave a full confession."

There were tears in Lindsay's eyes as she grabbed Don in a tight embrace. "Thank you," she gasped. "Thank you so much."

"Hey, you guys did all the grunt work," Don joked. "We just did the fun part. I do love a good chase, gives you more satisfaction when you get your man."

"Spoken like a true cop," laughed Lindsay with a roll of her eyes. "Go on and sit down, we'll be starting soon. Are you coming to the party back at ours?"

"Of course. Got the gift waiting in my glove compartment."

The two of them strode forward and Don slipped into the seat beside Stella. The whole team was sitting together, apart from Mac of course, who was up fulfilling his duties as godfather. Everybody had dressed up for the occasion; Stella was wearing a cream shift dress with olive-green detailing and the others were in suits, although Adam had insisted on wearing his trademark trainers with his. Up in the front row of seats, Danny had one arm around Lindsay, who was cradling a sleeping Lucy in her arms. Lindsay looked breathtaking in a lilac dress with spaghetti straps and matching shoes, a contented smile spreading across her face. Her sister Lauren sat next to Mac, as she would be godmother. They were very alike. Danny's mother sat in the row behind them with Lindsay's mom, who had flown in from Montana with her daughter, and several other relatives.

"They make such a sweet, happy family, don't they?" Stella whispered to Don. He grinned and nodded fervently, before relaying the good news he had just told Lindsay. Stella gave a squeal of delight and hugged him before passing the message along the row, Chinese-whispers style. There was a lot of grinning and hand-shaking as the church bell rang and they rose to their feet.

The priest began the ceremony, saying the various prayers and making the necessary signs with the cross. Soon, it was time for Lucy's baptism to begin. Lindsay and Lauren walked ahead to the font as Mac offered Danny his crutch. The younger man shook his head and braced himself, limping unaided toward his wife and daughter. Don heard Stella gasp and knew she was crying.

The font was blessed by the white-haired minister, and then the parents and godparents renewed their own baptismal promises. Finally, it was time. Lindsay held Lucy, who was quiet as a mouse, as the priest poured the holy water from the font over her head. Don waited to hear what middle name Danny and Lindsay had decided upon.

"Lucy Claire Aiden Jessica Messer, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

Don felt his breath catch in his throat as the priest began anointing Lucy with the blessed oil. It was perfect. So perfect. So right. He could see the tears sparkling in Mac's normally calm eyes too, and knew he was not the only one who had been touched by the choice of names.

As the ceremony drew to a close, the others stood up. Adam and Sheldon stepped into the aisle to take photos of Lindsay, Danny and Lucy, while Stella and Sid hurried forward to congratulate them and be introduced to Mrs. Monroe and Lauren, who they had seen only briefly before the ceremony. Don sat where he was for a moment, watching the commotion without really seeing. A sudden, unexplained warm feeling seemed to squeeze his heart.

_Jess was right_, he thought to himself. _She _is _always with me._

And feeling the happiest and most content that he had felt since the day Jessica Angell slipped away, Don Flack rose to his feet and hurried forward to shake the hand of his best friend. After all this time, things were finally looking good to him again.

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

**A/N #2: And that's that! Done. Complete. Please don't give out to me for this last shameless little piece of cheese, I just wanted to end on a happy note. Take your last chance and review now, because this is the end. Thanks so much to everyone who has read Déjà Vu. I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it!**

**Signing off on this story for the final time,**

**Ciara**

**x x x **


End file.
